


feet first

by awesomefatkitty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Depression, Gay, Gay Sex, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, POV Ron Weasley, POV Second Person, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, no happy ending, seriously there will be no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomefatkitty/pseuds/awesomefatkitty
Summary: You let me push you against the wall after you healed the bruises. Let me devour you like I hadn’t eaten in years. Let me dig my fingers into your hips, creating bruises you never got rid of while you buried your hands in my hair and whimpered into my mouth.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	feet first

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: There are some mild descriptions of injuries from street fighting. A lot of depression and unhealthy coping mechanisms. And a little bit of suicidal ideation with an implied suicide at the end. Happy heartbreak, friends.

You told me once that I wandered muggle London in the middle of the night because I wasn’t afraid enough of dying. I laughed because it was partly true. The other part of the truth was that I wanted to feel something again. The atmosphere of Burrow was stifling that summer. Of course it was. Mom had lost her son, we had lost our brother, and George. George had lost himself.

I put on my brave face until I couldn’t. Until the sun sunk down and I felt too itchy in my skin to stare up at the childish posters on my bedroom ceiling anymore. No one noticed when I left or when I came back. They were too wrapped up in their own grief. How could they not be?

I asked you if that was why you did it and you had just shrugged. We fell back into silence long enough that I thought that was the end of it. I almost wasn’t sure I had really heard it when you finally whispered, “What else do I have to lose?”

I wanted to tell you you only had yourself to blame, but I was too tired to be angry anymore. You already knew it anyways. It was why you were there.

I didn’t wander around with you intentionally, you know. I walked along the Thames most nights and one time, you were just there. Sitting on a bench, staring out blankly over the water, too long white blonde hair ruffling in the breeze. I don’t know why I did it, but I sat down on the side opposite you. You didn’t even look at me, so I didn’t say anything. I almost wondered if you were so far gone you didn’t even notice it when I sat down.

“Would you jump in headfirst or feet first?” you finally broke the silence. I glanced at you from the corner of my eye; you were as still as you had been when I first sat down.

“Does it matter?”

“I think I’d go feet first. I deserve to know it when it happens.”

I didn’t see you again for a month. I stopped going to that bench. What was I waiting for anyways? I wondered if maybe you had finally jumped. I wondered if I would be sad to know that you had.

I stumbled my way into some underground muggle street fighting event. You snorted and rolled your eyes later when I phrased it just like that. It was the first emotion I’d seen from you. Exasperation. For a moment, I was 11 again. I think I was chasing that.

I wasn’t very good at fighting. I bled a lot that first month, broke a lot that first month, learned a lot of healing spells that I always had to wait to use. But I was so numb at that point, it was just nice to feel something. I didn’t mind having to wait with the pain until I stumbled home. I got better though. Enough to make a little money.

You were just there one night, standing right up against the cement blocks they had used to form a ring however long ago. You distracted me. I don’t know if you ever knew that, but you did. With your too long hair even longer now and your stupid passive, pointy face. You flinched when his knuckles collided with my nose. I know because I couldn’t stop looking at you.

You found me in the alley maybe an hour later. My nose was still broken, my ribs were bruised. I ached everywhere, enough that I couldn’t get up from the heap I had fallen into when I finally got outside and sucked in the wet, night air. You raised your wand and I didn’t even question what you were doing. Maybe I should have, but I guess I was still tired.

“Just my nose,” I told you. You stared at me for a minute, your brow furrowed, and then I felt my nose snap back into place. I could breathe easier. You didn’t try to fix anything else. Maybe that’s why I walked, or limped really, along the Thames with you that night.

“You cost me money,” I told you. You laughed. It was a little bitter, but I think you seemed softer after that.

I jumped into you feet first; I knew it was happening. I didn’t get distracted by you again, but I always knew when you were there. I started winning more. I don’t know when you started looking at me so appreciatively, but I don’t think you even realized you were doing it. You were always such pants at keeping a straight face. I don’t know how you survived and Fred didn’t.

I told you that one night after you fixed my nose for the fourth time. You fixed a rib too, mumbling something about a punctured lung. I was bitter about the rib because you accidentally fixed the bruising too and it didn’t ache enough. And then your gaze was sweeping down my still bare torso and I just. Lashed out.

You didn’t even fight back. You just glared at me and turned away. What’s the point in riling you up if you’re just as numb as I am?

We kissed that night. You were walking away, and I was angry for the first time in months. Not a lot, but enough. I pulled you back and pushed you up against the cold brick wall, but you looked at me with such heat.

It was all teeth at first. I don’t know if the copper taste was your blood or mine. But you dug your nails into the skin of my hips and you _whimpered_ and I couldn’t help myself. I pressed you against that wall until you couldn’t breathe. I could feel the lines down my back from where you tried to gain purchase for almost a week.

You didn’t show up to the fights for a while. At least I think it was a while. I started going every night. I got really good at my healing spells. I didn’t have a pointy git around to do the work for me.

“You’re a bloody mess, Weasley,” was exactly how you greeted me the next time I saw you. I laughed. It sounded strangled to my own ears. I was only fixing the broken bones. My torso was a canvas of varying shades of purple and yellow. Your gaze was decidedly less appreciative when you looked at me.

You let me push you against the wall after you healed the bruises. Let me devour you like I hadn’t eaten in years. Let me dig _my_ fingers into your hips, creating bruises you never got rid of while you buried your hands in my hair and whimpered into my mouth.

I didn’t fight the next night. I just found you in the crowd and pulled you outside and pushed you face first into that alley wall. You never asked why I wouldn’t look at you. You just braced yourself and let me shove your trousers down to your thighs and prep you roughly before pushing in. Gods, you were always so tight.

And when I had emptied myself into you, when you had painted the brick after painfully rutting against it, we’d just button our flies and wander around London without another word until the sunrise threatened to reveal us to the city.

You asked me if I was going back to finish my NEWTs and I winced. You thought it was because I was remembering the war, but it was because I was remembering who you were.

I fucked you twice that night.

Harry and Hermione came back from Australia at the end of the summer. We went to a pub in muggle London every night for a week, closed it down as we caught up and then tried to forget. My skin was crawling by the end of the week. I had gotten so used to seeing you every night and then suddenly I wasn’t, suddenly I wasn’t fighting because I knew my friends would notice the bruising and the limp even though my family didn’t. I had too much energy.

You showed up at the pub our last night there. You told me later you had seen us go in, that you had stepped through the door before you even realized what you were doing. I laughed. You looked almost hurt.

My friends noticed you of course. They didn’t notice when I slipped into the loo after you. I don’t know what made me do it, but I dropped to my knees in the stall and took you into my mouth for the first time. For all the fucking we did, we never did that.

The weight of you on my tongue was heady, your scent intoxicating. I put a whole missed week’s worth of fucking into swallowing you down. You screamed when you came, one hand wrapped tightly in my hair and the other scrambling for purchase against the stall door. I drank all of you and then I crashed my lips into yours so you could taste yourself. You melted into me. It was all I could do not to take you with me when I left. I guess I missed you. And wasn’t that something?

I don’t know what I was thinking. I won the next fight, and I used the money to book a room at that cute little hotel that we liked to walk by. You told me I was ridiculous, but you let me pull you inside anyways. You held on tightly to my hand as we walked down that hall. I should have stopped then, but I was still grieving. So were you, I think, even if it was for very different reasons.

I lost count of how many times I lost myself in you that night. You returned the favor from the bar and then I pressed you into the mattress. You rode me with abandon. I took you into my mouth again, let my tongue dip down and tease your entrance. I looked at you every time. I didn’t turn you away from me. I couldn’t get enough of the way you looked when you fell apart at my hands. I suppose I should have known then. Maybe I had fallen into you headfirst after all.

“Merlin, Weasley, that was perfect,” you mumbled, curling into my side afterwards. Your left hand came to rest on my chest, your faded mark only peeking out at me from this angle. I thought my throat was closing up, but I was just choking on all the months of unshed tears. I must have given myself away because you surged up and captured my lips again, still chapped and kissed raw from earlier.

“I want you,” I breathed into you.

“You have me,” you said, and I swallowed the words.

You wrapped yourself around me that last time, dug your heels into my arse as you held me inside you. I couldn’t stop kissing you, anywhere I could reach. Your lips, your cheeks, your eyes, your neck, your chest. I felt like I wanted to absorb you into me, trap the memory of you with me always. It was too much. You were always too much.

You kissed away my tears. I’m not sure I would have known I was crying if you hadn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked. I never asked what for.

“Fuck you,” I said and then I just devoured you again.

I saw you one more time after that. At the bench on the Thames. We sat silently beside each other like that first night, hands tucked into coats now that the weather was getting colder.

“Headfirst,” I broke the silence first. You looked at me then. I could see you from the corner of my eye, but I just looked out over the water. “I don’t want to know it’s happening; I just want it to be over.”

I didn’t fight that night. Didn’t kiss you or fuck you or wander with you or anything else we had gotten into the habit of doing over the last seven months. We just sat there quietly until the sun began to rise. You were still just sitting there when I finally walked away.

I didn’t see you at the fights again, so I stopped going. I didn’t see you around London anymore, so I stopped wandering. I didn’t realize how numb I still was until the whole winter passed without you. The Burrow was still stifling so I moved out. I couldn’t do it anymore. I wanted to tell you, more than I wanted to tell anybody else, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

My first flat was by that hotel. I walked by it sometimes and could feel my body ache with the thought of you. I never wondered where you were. I only wondered if you thought about me as much as I thought about you.

I thought about writing you once. And then I walked past that hotel and I remembered your mark peeking out at me as you buried yourself into my side and my throat swelled up again and I knew that I couldn’t. Too much had happened for it to work. I don’t think you would have even written me back. Gods, how I missed you though.

I heard they removed your body from the Thames the next summer. I sat at our bench for the first time on your birthday the year after that. I don’t know why. I was saying goodbye, I guess. I only wondered if you jumped in headfirst or feet first.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I didn't break your hearts too much. Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
